


abstraction deficiency

by orphan_account



Category: T-Ara, U-KISS
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, mentions of Myungsoo/Suzy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2129241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Water, he thinks, the thing he drinks every day – has it always tasted that way, or was it just the conditioning of his mind, the human mind, that rendered it tasteless?</p>
            </blockquote>





	abstraction deficiency

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by Shane Carruth's Upstream Color and Haruki Murakami's 1Q84.
> 
> dedicated to Hana, Jadey, Shida, and Elle for shipping this crackship with me and encouraging me to finish this!

 

 

_Color_

  1. the visual perceptual property corresponding in humans to the categories called red, blue, yellow, green and others. 
  2. derives from the spectrum of light (distribution of light power versus wavelength) interacting in the eye with the spectral sensitivities of the light receptors. 
  3. based on an object's physical properties such as light absorption, reflection, or emission spectra.



 

 

 

_January_

 

There is a man, and he sits over the river on the hood of a waste truck, waiting for orders to pull out. A cigarette smokes between his teeth, neglected, the acidic factory air thick, trying to choke him as he exhales. He glances down at his watch – a Rolex, hidden beneath his sooty work uniform, the first form of payment received. After he does this, the intermediary told him, more will follow. He jumps down from the hood. More will follow.

This man unloads the barrels from the textile factory – three months’ worth of waste water, black from a mixture of textile dyes. He rolls them down to the banks, the water so silent that he thinks the river is still. He spits out his cigarette and crushes the dying ember with his worn boot, gloved hands uncapping the barrels. The first barrel of waste water flows in, the black sludge clouding, drowning, gasping for air, before it reaches for the surface, extending its elongated fingers down the river. He empties it, systematically, sure.

He will continue this process until dawn breaks or until he completes it, when the water turns acidic and green and rancid.

This will be the most beautiful water ever tasted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _綠 (green)_ August . Los Angeles

 

Sunny skies in the metropolitan area on this lovely August day. She can hear Suzy groan from her bedroom. The static accompanies her. Her mug, filled to the brim with tea, almost falls out of her hand completely at the noise, a sad puddle of chamomile frowning on the kitchen tile. She puts it down.

It is seven AM. She stares at her alarm clock, innocuous neon green numbers blinking back, proceeding to blare the morning traffic condition on the 405. She does not remember ever setting this alarm, for this time. What the hell, Jiyeon, Suzy yells, sensitive morning person. She blinks, looks out the window, sun peeking out from between the clouds. Sunny skies in the metropolitan area on this lovely August day.

She shuts it off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _紅 (red)_ January. Seoul

 

She takes the earliest train to Seoul, first to get on, first to get off. He is waiting at the station, scratching the ground with the sole of his shoe, when he sees her. He mouths her name first, or at least so she thinks, before saying it aloud, or at least so she hears it. She does not have the chance to see his smile (wide, broad, largest feature on his face) once she’s in his arms, engulfed, the cavity of his torso that is reserved for her. She inhales and he smells like patience – waiting in the sharp scent of steel grating against steel, all exhaust and metal. It clings to the black scarf he’s wearing, the one she gave him in high school. She presses her cheek against it before letting go and taking his gloved hand into hers. 

This is Seoul. He is looking at her, and she at him. Her hometown, where she really belongs.

 

 

 

 

 

They are lying in the snow when she brings it up. I’m going to transfer into Seoul National – resolute. Their hands are still intertwined, gloved fingers stubby but clinging, his thumb stroking the side of her palm. He thinks if someone looked at them from above, high above, their arms would resemble some kind of rigid umbilical cord. The thought is funny – even their puffy winter coat sleeves can look like the wrinkles. He exhales instead of laughing. 

Don’t transfer just for me, he says. She flips over, settling on her stomach, and inches toward him so her eyes are directly above his. They are dark, so dark, more child-like than demon incarnate. They are the same eyes that met his, unwavering, before he moved to kiss her on graduation day, the same eyes that cried when he left to attend college two years before she could. He can feel her breath against his cheek. 

I’m not, she whispers, mouth hovering above his lips. He tilts his head up and catches them with his. They are cold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He sees her off. They retrace their steps back to the train station, past little stores selling leftover holiday trinkets and coffee shops bustling with people. 

They are waiting for the crosswalk signal to turn green again. The numbers by the blinking red hand countdown – twenty, nineteen, eighteen. Jiyeon, he says, swallows, says again. She turns toward him, this girl who holds his hand, this girl he has loved since high school, this girl who kisses the corners of his mouth before his lips themselves. Ten, nine, eight. 

I love you. The sign goes green. 

I love you too. She waves at him through the window of the train, third seat from the back, facing Incheon. He waves back as the train pulls away, leaves, and does not come back.

 

 

 

 

 

She has this habit of not looking back until it is too late, until she cannot see anything, and continuing to stare. This time is no exception. 

It must be a condition of the human race, she thinks as her neck starts to feel stiff, to push themselves to do such useless things. There is this elderly lady reading the newspaper behind her, two seats to the left, front headline big and bolded. It is there, in the corner of her eye, but not.

 

 

 

 

 

_Factory wastes spill into the Yangtze River._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _綠 (green)_ August . Los Angeles

 

Between the two of them, Suzy is the foreign exchange student – Korean born, Korean raised. It is a little unassuming, Jiyeon thinks, that she is the one who adopted an English name rather than her, American born, American raised. Maybe even somewhat ironic, she amends it as, when Suzy still pronounces the z as a j after a year. 

Suzy, at least, tries with her English. Others, like her boyfriend, Myungsoo, do not bother and only speak in the mother tongue, even when he, like her, is American born, American raised. They fight sometimes and she hears them, Suzy shouting slowly in English and Myungsoo in faster Korean. The premise is funny, comical even, when it is not supposed to be. She lets herself laugh only after they get back together again, usually a week or so later. 

She is kind of a social butterfly, Suzy, drawing everyone in with her smiles and positivity. She drags her along to the social gatherings that she gets invited to with the rest of the school’s Korean demography on the weekends. There is beer there sometimes, soju if they are lucky, because, as Suzy liked to put it, what kind of Korean get-together would it be without alcohol? Myungsoo brought up the issue of drinking age once. They fought over it the whole car ride home. 

This is the process of going back to her roots, Jiyeon thinks one day, staring at lips shaping Korean words, not understanding all of them and not trying to either. The sounds blend, break, bend – background noise. Her mother would be proud.

 

 

 

 

 

Are you free tonight? Suzy mouths to her, phone pressed against her ear, hand covering the receiver. She has yet to forgive Jiyeon for that alarm clock incident. She takes it as an acceptance of her apology. 

Her shirt is sticking slightly to her back, the weather too hot and dry to walk to and from summer class comfortably. She wipes a thin sheen of sweat from her upper lip. I don’t know. Why? 

There’s a get-together at Myungsoo’s friend’s place. He said to invite everybody. Jiyeon grabs the tray of ice cubes from the freezer and pops out too many of them into her glass. They clack down the sides, deafening, before settling at the bottom. She fills whatever space is left with water. You know how Woohyun is. 

She shrugs. Suzy continues. I already asked my TA – you know, Jaeseop? The name sounds familiar. She holds an ice cube in her mouth, melts it slowly, painstakingly with her tongue. Jaeseop. No face attaches to the name. He can give us a ride. 

I have class tomorrow, she lies. She wonders if Suzy will realize today is Friday. She does.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The GPS suctioned onto the windshield is crooked, threatening to slip off completely. The traffic lights scintillate before it – blurs of red, yellow, green. Suzy, in the backseat with Myungsoo, rests her head on his shoulder. They are talking in hushed whispers, like couples in movies do. She feels like an intruding third wheel. 

Jaeseop sits beside her, eyes focused on the road, right hand on the steering wheel, left resting where he rolled the window down. He drives in this easy, sure way, tail lights of the car in front of them shading his face with white, then with red. She thinks she has seen him before, tall, lanky, smile that turns the corners of his mouth amicably up, thumb tracing the steering wheel as they wait at yet another red light. He looks familiar – though all Korean people do, to a certain extent, to her. 

Is there something on my face? he laughs as they turn right, into a residential area. It is a deep but childish kind of laughter, unrestrained and free. Has she heard laughter like this before? She adverts her eyes back to the road. No. He looks at her, a little suspiciously, a little unsure, like he has more to say. He does not say it.

Stop sign, she says, dumbly, pointing. It is bright red in the headlights. He looks back to the road and brakes just in time. Myungsoo and Suzy are thrown forward.

 

 

 

 

 

Hey. She is holding a half-empty beer can in her hand. It feels heavier than that. She does not even like the taste of alcohol. She sets it down on the ground, far from inebriation. He is standing in front of her, Jaeseop, tall and lanky, arms close to his sides, hands in his pockets. Jiyeon. He mouths her name first, or at least so she thinks, before saying it aloud, or at least so she hears. It sounds better against his tongue, Korean born, American raised. 

I don’t know where Suzy is, she says. It does not really hit her until she says it. Should she have stuck with Suzy for the night? She kicks the can, beer sloshing onto the concrete before emptying into the flowerbed. Petunia petals sink, intoxicated. 

He has not moved from his place. She and Myungsoo already left. He is scratching the dark trail of alcohol on the concrete with the sole of his shoe. I’ll drive you back when you’re ready to leave. 

She picks up the can. Tosses it into the recycling bin, which is nearly filled, almost overflowing. All beer. They were not lucky, Suzy had said with a shrug. The price of soju went up again. She pretended to care, but she did not, really. Ready? Jaeseop asks, more gentle than pushy. She follows him to the car. 

The GPS falls off the windshield. She stares at it for a long time. They spend the entire ride in silence, traffic scintillating off their still silhouettes.

 

 

 

 

 

_February_

 

A month has passed. Who is going to clean up the mess? There is only so much the government can do, only so much in so much time. They cannot agree on anything. Cleaning begins, slowly, not surely. Traffic on the river is reduced, shipment prices go up. Economists suspect this will create an issue soon. 

How do you clean up an entire river, when it flows nearly four thousand miles long? Heads go into hands, sleep is lost to worrying, working, wavering. The water remains acidic and green and rancid, pooling out into the sea, depositing into the land, the best water ever tasted. The best water ever tasted – there is only one corporation that can amend such shortcomings. Call them, offer anything they want. Do you think they will say yes? This is the worst spill in a country in decades. 

Call them, get them to say yes. Do it, do it, do it. They do. They say yes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _紅加綠 (red bleeds into green)_ August . Los Angeles

 

Turn left at the next street light. He does. She sits in the backseat. She cannot remember why she chose to. She stares at the nape of his neck, as if it will give her the answer. The GPS is still sitting on the dashboard, screen down, still on. It shines a little square of light onto where it lies, silent. Fourth building on the right side. 

The lights to their apartment are off. She looks up, looks down. Suzy must be at Myungsoo’s. This is not surprising. His left arm is resting where he rolled down the window, late night summer air filtering in, suffocating and powdery. He is staring at her through the rearview mirror. It is a look of indecision, forehead slightly creased, almost like he is irritated. She knows this look – looks like these, she changes the thought to – all too well. 

Thanks for driving me. Us. His breath hitches. Exhales. The nape of his neck moves accordingly, domino effect sliding everything above his thoracic cavity up, then down again. She leans forward to open the door. Inhales. He smells like patience – waiting in the sharp scent of steel grating against steel, all exhaust and metal. The door jams so she pulls the handle again. It opens, a little too easily this time. 

Jiyeon, and it sounds better on his tongue, natural, not just Korean born, American raised. Do I know you? She tilts her head to meet his eyes from where he sits inside the car, look of indecision even when he has already made up his mind. He opens the door, gets out. She steps back and lets him. Her hands swelter in her jean pockets. Do you, Jaeseop? She butchers the name, half on purpose, half inadvertently. He is tall, lanky – long arms, torso a hungry cavity. Familiar, almost, but not quite. 

A car alarm goes off down the street. I feel like I do. His breath hitches. Exhales. This time she can feel it on her forehead, close, almost familiar, not familiar at all. It is warm, moist, but not uncomfortably so. It is warm.

 

 

 

 

 

Her lips taste a little alcoholic, like the beer she washed her mouth with, and a little like water, like nothing at all. Water, he thinks, the thing he drinks every day – has it always tasted that way, or was it just the conditioning of his mind, the human mind, that rendered it tasteless? Her hand is in his hair, tangled in between the strands, pulling him down toward her. She is insistent and not, he is not and insistent. He kisses her, hard, full on the mouth, her back against the door to her apartment, sighing in between breaths. His left hand catches with hers like an instinct, like he has done this many times before, with her. Their fingers simultaneously intertwine. 

She presses her lips against the corner of his mouth before meeting his lips once more. It is as if all instances of déjà vu were triggered by this one action, one event, and then the rest scatter, disperse, like the wavelengths of visible light that do not get absorbed. He knows her. He knows her. She stops, abrupt, head turning so her cheek faces him. A distant street lamp burns it yellow, the rest of her face hidden in mauve-tinted darkness. Her hand goes slack in his. 

I don’t know you. Her voice is shaking, like she is trying to remember, forget, understand all at once. He steps back, lets her hand go. He tries to do the same. 

But I know you. She leans against the door, staring at his feet. He is scratching the ground with the sole of his shoe, watching her watch him. What are they, two people who know each other, but really don’t? How does that even work? 

She looks up at him. She holds out her hand. He takes it. Their fingers simultaneously intertwine. 

His thumb strokes the side of her palm.

 

 

 

 

 

How long did you wait that day? she whispers to him under the covers. He turns his head towards her, hem of his t-shirt riding up in the process. At the train station, she continues, in January. How long did you wait that day? 

He traces the lines on her palm. Lifeline, marriage line. He would like to think he is a part of one of those. At least three hours. 

She smiles. It flickers for a moment before turning semi-permanent. It was cold that day, wasn’t it? 

He blinks. January. Seoul. Jiyeon. It was.     

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _藍 (blue)_ October . Taipei

 

He is in a hurry, meeting in five minutes. His pager is going crazy, he knows, he knows, he knows, but that does not stop his coworker’s anxiety. Four minutes and thirty seconds. Come on, come on, come on. If he is lucky, the elevator will not be full. If he is lucky, the crosswalk will go green sometime soon. He drums his fingers against his leg, waiting. 

The sign goes green. He sprints across the street to the office building. Some girl is walking down the street in the direction opposite of his. He thinks he will not bump into her, but he does. He has never been a good judge of distance. I’m sorry, he says. It’s ok, she replies as he walks around her and continues running. Her laminated nametag shines the sun into his eyes for a moment, _Piáo Zhìyán_ , and then he is staring at the concrete again. He looks down at his watch. 

He has one minute and forty seconds left.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _紅加綠 (red bleeds into green)_ September . Los Angeles

 

They never bought a tv set for their apartment on the grounds that it was a. too expensive and b. they did not have time to extensively watch anything anyway. Instead, they make do with Jiyeon’s subscription to the Los Angeles Times. The newspaper, unlike the tv, Jiyeon thinks, does not force feed you to read anything. Suzy just liked being able to practice her reading comprehension. 

The Dow closed up yesterday, Suzy tells her. She flips to the first page of the newspaper, the LA Times Extra. She tried explaining to Suzy the paradoxical nature of the abbreviation, LATEXTRA, once, but Suzy never got it. She thinks about that as Suzy skims through the headlines, trying to find one she likes. 

This corporation again, Suzy mumbles as she flips the page again. Jiyeon frowns. What? She sighs in reply. You know, the one that helped clean up that river in China? 

She shakes her head. That’s weird, Suzy shrugs, nonchalant. It was all over the news earlier this year. March, maybe? She folds up the extra section and picks up the sports one instead. Jiyeon stares, trying to remember.

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t know you, but I do. She is pacing back and forth, worn soles slapping the pavement. He is sitting on the grass, twirling a twig between his fingers. It snaps. He places its halves down beside him before reaching for another. They have been doing this for the past month, trying to put the pieces together. They just do not fall in place. 

We went to the same high school in Seoul from grades ten to twelve. We also went to the same junior high, but you transferred over from a foreign school in grade nine, when I was in grade seven. You liked psychology, but you couldn’t pursue that in college, so you chose medicine instead. Our first kiss was on your graduation day. You said, I think I’ve liked you for a long time, Jiyeon, and I said, I think so too. You attended Seoul National University and your parents cried the day you left for campus. Do well, son, your mom told you, but you could barely understand what she said. Your dad stood stoic in the back. He was not crying. He doesn’t do that, your dad, display his emotions. You told me that you wanted to make him proud. You did. We didn’t see each other much even though you weren’t far away. Every other weekend, to be exact. You came to my graduation. Nice hat, you told me. You thought you were funny but I was too busy crying to try to laugh. I got into Inha University in Incheon. Congratulations, you told me. You were smiling but I knew you were upset, not at me, but that we wouldn’t be close by. We saw each other even less. I planned to transfer to Seoul National University – 

She pauses, words like rapid fire on hold. She repeats the last sentence again and stops at the same place. What comes after that? 

He lies all the way down, so his back is touching the grass. The longer tufts tickle his cheeks. Jiyeon. She looks at him, like he says her name often. He does not. He holds up his hand to shade his face from the late afternoon sun. It glows orange, rays peeking out from the spaces between his fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you believe in –

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_May_

 

The files scatter all over the walkway. Do you know what you’ve done? Do you know what you’ve fucking done? There is pushing, pulling, erratic, sporadic didactic – push pull push pull. He protects himself, face in a thicket of arms, while the other man kick, kick, kicks. Kicking. He is far from happy. 

You told me to do it. You told me to do it. So I did. The papers litter the foyer. They are lucky the workplace is empty at this time. What a scene, what a scene. The man kicking grunts. He did not want to do this, but he did. Why did he do it? He cannot remember. He helps the other man to his feet, apologetic. They pick up the files and head home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Somewhere, someone is smiling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _紅加綠 (red bleeds into green)_ October . Los Angeles

 

Four fifty in the morning on this beautiful October day. Stay tuned for the weather after this commercial break. He is late. He is late. The alarm is incessant, grating against his ears, and he hates it. He hates being late. Not too long ago, he was late – he got off the bus one stop too early, near the 101 building and bumped into this girl when he was running to the office, her name tag, _Piáo Zhìyán_ , blinding and then concrete once again – he should not take his chances. 

Four fifty in the morning on this beautiful October day. He turns on the water and it is freezing cold, like her lips. Her – he pauses. Her – Jiyeon? He turns the water off. Morning showers for the metropolitan area, then cloudy for the rest of the day. He turns the water back on. It is four fifty in the morning. It runs over his upturned palms, turning his fingers bright red and numb. He turns the water off. It is four fifty in the morning and he is sitting down on his bathroom floor in Los Angeles, California, in the United States of America. 

He waits for the feeling in his hands to come back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Suzy and Myungsoo break up. She does not know who did the breaking and who is the broken. Maybe it is both of them. Suzy’s face the following morning gives nothing away. Jiyeon heard their last fight – Suzy screaming in English, Myungsoo in Korean, same as usual. It did not end as usual. Suzy told him to fuck off in Korean. He did. 

Are you okay? Jiyeon asks. Suzy skips the LATEXTRA for the comics. She shrugs. It wasn’t working anymore. She concedes nothing more. Jiyeon does not push for the details. She pours herself a cup of orange juice, and then one for Suzy. 

I just. She is the middle of the _Peanuts_ strip, eyes cast all the way down. Dark spots color the grey around Snoopy and Charlie Brown. I thought he was my soul mate. 

She does not know what to say to that. She thinks about Jaeseop for some reason, and then forgets the phrase she was going to comfort Suzy with. Is that what he is? She hands her the glass of orange juice instead.  

  

 

 

 

He drives her back to her apartment on Tuesdays when their classes end at around the same time. She turns the heater on even though it isn’t even that cold, holds her damp fingers to the air vents. They are outstretched, ready to catch something if something would come through the heater. He imagines it to be a baseball. 

Sometimes, they remember, or feel, or however you would describe remembering memories that never really existed. He will kiss her and she will let him, or vice versa. They try not to let it go farther than that. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it does not. Today is neither of those times. Today, he feels nothing. The memories do not feel like his, but they, in some form, are. He looks over to her. Today, it looks dormant for her also. 

Have you ever heard of the factory waste spill in the Yangtze River? He rolls down the window and leans his left arm against the sill, eyes focused on the road. Yeah, why? 

She stares at him. She does this often, looks so closely at him that he thinks she knows everything about him – and maybe she does, in that remembering-memories-that-never-really-existed-way – like she is trying to connect two truths, but ultimately fails. But did you hear of it when the news first came out? In January, February, March? 

He makes a left. It is a red light. She is about to tell him, but then he answers. No.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _藍 (blue)_ October . Taipei

 

This is her daily routine: 

She wakes up at six. She brushes her teeth with a pea-sized dollop of toothpaste for an average of one minute and thirty seconds, rinses her mouth twice after that. She gets dressed for work, walks to the subway, two hundred and thirty-three steps without heels, three hundred twenty with, and scans her transportation card, taking the blue line for three stops. Sometimes, it is late. If it is, she will wait. If she is having an off day, she may board the incorrect train. 

She crosses two crosswalks before reaching the office building. Here she works as an assistant. She wears a nametag. Her coworker calls it a dogtag, something to identify you with once you die a slow death beneath the piles of papers you have to file. It is a little nonsensical, this logic, she thinks, but finds it amusing. 

She has a forty minute lunch break that starts at one o’clock. She does not utilize it accordingly. She realizes this by six o’clock, when she gets off work. Some days, she may stay overtime. If she does not, she takes the bus to the main subway station. She will feel like she is forgetting something, when there may be nothing wrong at all. In any case, she will not look back until it is too late, until she cannot see anything, and continue to stare. 

It must be a condition of the human race, she often thinks in those moments, as her neck starts to feel stiff, to push themselves to do such useless things.

 

 

 

 

 

 _紅加綠 (red bleeds into green)_ October . Los Angeles

 

The first article is dated January eleventh. Suzy, do you remember if the Dow closed up or down on January eleventh? It is a long shot. She laughs. Jiyeon, that was more than half a year ago. Do you think I remember? 

There are others – the large ones: February fifteenth, March twenty-seventh, June seventh. Suzy, do you remember if the Dow closed up or down on February fifteenth? Suzy, do you remember if the Dow closed up or down on March twenty-seventh? Suzy, come on, I know you read how the Dow closes every day. Do you remember one certain day? 

Why do you care, Jiyeon? she frowns when Jiyeon asks her for the third day in a row. Project, she replies. She has not used the word since high school. Suzy does not notice. 

The Dow closed up on your birthday. Remember, we celebrated – Jiyeon, where are you going? What the hell? Jiyeon. Jiyeon. Her bare feet slap against the linoleum floor, like the bones that constitute them are pounding against it too. She almost forgets to put on some shoes before she runs out the door, and even then, they are sandals.

 

 

 

 

 

It costs him nearly four dollars for them to print out everything they need from the library. Does this make sense to you? she asks him. He looks at the papers, the news reports. They shuffle them in and out of order, Suzy’s primary account of the Dow closing up on June seventh written in on the blank sheet from their trial printing attempt. Is it supposed to? She does not seem amused with his retort. 

Do you watch the news every day? Or read the newspaper? He nods. There was never a story like this in January. And there’s no way it can just be, you know. Not reported. 

She thinks about that. Then how come, she flips to the last two pages, everyone knows about it but us? June seventh, the Dow closes up. June seventh, the Dow closes down. The bear and the bull. He sighs, leaning back into his chair, right hand rubbing his forehead. She reaches for his left. Their fingers intertwine, simultaneously.

 

 

 

 

 

 _紅加綠 (red bleeds into green)_ September . Los Angeles

 

He says her name like he says it often. Jiyeon. Sometimes, the sound ricochets, echoes, in the confines of her mind, like six other Jaeseops are saying it, all at the same time as he is now. Jiyeon. She looks at him, lying down on the grass, the spot beside him empty. It is waiting for her. She does not take it. He is just lying there, her first love, and then not. 

Do you believe in –

 

 

 

 

 

 _紅加綠 (red bleeds into green)_ October . Los Angeles

 

See you around. He does not rest his left arm where he has rolled down the window anymore. It is getting cold, she remembers. As cold as Southern California can get. Yeah, she says. See you around. When around will be, they do not know. When they remember they love each other again? That is not even a definitive. He pulls away, turns into a speck of white and red tail lights in the distance. She does not look back until it is too late, until she cannot see anything, and continues to stare. 

It must be a condition of the human race, she thinks, kicking her sandals into the shoe rack, to push themselves to do such useless things. The heel of her left foot grazes her right shin. It is cold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _綠加藍 (green bleeds into blue)_ November . Los Angeles

 

She wakes up at six. She brushes her teeth with a pea-sized dollop of toothpaste for an average of one minute and thirty seconds, rinses her mouth twice after that. She should be up right now. Her eyes remain closed. She should be up right now. 

He loves her, this girl who holds his hand, this girl he has loved since high school, this girl who kisses the corners of his mouth before his lips themselves. Ten, nine, eight. This is why he holds on, holds onto her, even when they are not really here, not really themselves. 

Seven, six, five. The Dow closed up on your birthday. Remember, we celebrated – Then in Korean. Fuck off, Myungsoo. He did. Suzy has not used much Korean since. Four, three, two, one –

 

 

 

 

 

Four o’clock in the morning on this chilly November day. Stay tuned for the weather after this commercial break.

 

 

 

 

 

He is driving home after class and then he cannot remember what street to take next. Where is he? He takes the next right, parks on the side of the road. Where is this? He rolls down the window. The air is noticeably warmer than he remembers it ever being in a November. The street he just turned out of is bustling, cars trying to turn left, trying to U-turn. The sidewalks are eerily vacant and narrow. Where is this? He opens the car door, walks over to the sidewalk. He has never been here before. 

His cell phone rings. He does not remember ever having this model. Hello? he answers like it is his. Jaeseop, someone says – a girl says, no – he pauses. Jiyeon. Jiyeon. He says her name. Jaeseop? 

I don’t know where I am. He can hear the anxiety in his own voice. I don’t know where I am, Jiyeon. Jiyeon, can you come and get me? Jiyeon, he says like it is the only thing he remembers. It is. 

Jaeseop. She butchers the name, half on purpose, half inadvertently. It is familiar, so familiar, this moment. He closes his eyes and leans against the hood of his car. He does not remember it – he remembers its existence, but not it itself, not what happened, no why where how when what. I’m coming to get you just tell me, tell me where you are and I’ll get you. He can hear her slamming the door and running down the stairs on the other end. 

He looks up and the sky is blue, impossibly blue, save for the orange stripes of the descending sun. It is blue, impossibly blue, and she – Jiyeon – is on the other line. This is – he pauses. This is Los Angeles, Calfornia, in the United States of America and he is on the intersection of the 423rd and Oak, waiting for her to get him. He sinks farther down against the hood. The sky is blue.

 

 

 

 

 

Four o’clock in the afternoon on this chilly November day. Stay tuned for tomorrow’s weather after this commercial break.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_November_

 

Everyone in the building is having a crisis. What will they do? Files are passed around, room 254 needs file sixteen-three B, third floor needs fifteen ninety-four W. Which room? I don’t know, just get the file. We’ll deal with it later. 

There has surely been a time and point in history where this has happened to some country. How did they fix this kind of disaster? But no, that won’t work. History, though composed of similar outcomes, is set up with an entirely different series of events. History, they think, grave, has never prepared them for this. 

File fifteen ninety-four W to room 670 on the third floor, please.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _綠加藍 (green bleeds into blue)_ December . Los Angeles

 

Suzy has moved on. Her new boyfriend, Sungjoon, is like her, Korean born, Korean raised, and likes to speak in English. Sometimes, he stays over and they read the morning newspaper together, stock market report first. He does not bring up the drinking age when she brings up alcohol. They do not fight. 

Isn’t he better than Myungsoo? Suzy laughs one day, when she has finally pushed him to go home. Jiyeon looks at the smile on her face. It is unlike any smile Myungsoo elicited from her lips. She nods and Suzy just smiles harder. 

Sometimes, she remembers their fights, Suzy shouting in slow English and Myungsoo in faster Korean, and the way she thought the premise funny when it was not supposed to be. Sungjoon and Suzy are, by comparison, less dynamic, more domestic. Is that what love is? She thinks about it one day, when Jaeseop drives her home. More about the words that constitute the question than the answer, because she cannot understand either of them.

 

 

 

 

 

She is picking up Chinese takeout from this restaurant that has been open since forever, according to the resident who lives down the hallway, and there is this rectangular fish tank sitting at the entrance. The water is a little cloudy, but small children still tap against the glass and bother the fish all the same. It is a wonder, she thinks, staring at a little patch of something green in the corner of the tank – moss? algae? – that the fish are still alive. Water like that – green. Acidic. Rancid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This will be the most beautiful water ever tasted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She leaves before she gets her order.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Four o’clock in the afternoon on this chilly November day. Stay tuned for tomorrow’s weather after this commercial break.

 

 

 

 

 

Suzy, pick up, pick up, pick up, please pick up. The ink washed off my hands, I don’t know how to get home, please pick up. Don’t be with Sungjoon right now, just pick up the phone, please pick up the phone. 

Jaeseop, thank god you picked up. I don’t know where I am, I just – I’m going to transfer into Seoul National. I’m not. I love you too. It’s ok.

 

 

 

 

 

Do you believe in –

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you believe in one reality?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

深 (dark) December . somewhere

 

They are lying on his bed, sweaters and shoes still on though the heater started up over an hour ago. He reaches for her hand. Their fingers simultaneously intertwine. This is how it has always been, here, since they met.   

He strokes the side of her palm with his thumb. Her eyes are dark, so dark, blinking so the halos scintillating off his hair will dissipate, fade into the white walls. This is how it has always been, reality, and then fallacy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This girl is his first love, and then not.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_December_

 

Room 254 and room 670 on the third floor are empty. The files are gone. The building is quiet. Still.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In fact –

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

there is no building at all.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
